Ruth Butler: As school supplies become clutter, a few gems emerge

The mother was suspicious. Her son, who looked to be 7-ish, really wanted these shoes and said, why, no. They felt just fine, and he was indeed not squinching.

Back to school and the stores are in supply/trends-for-fall mode. Parents are assessing what still fits, how much have they grown, what do they need, how can we do it all and get value at low prices?

Which is why Mom is not amused by a child who squinches, and then complains in a month because his feet hurt.

Call it the Christmas rush of summer: prepping for the new year, getting what needs to be gotten. Such an optimistic time.

Supplies all clean and sharp. Bright-colored backpacks before something icky leaks inside. Parents smiling, while wincing at the cost, because soon -- soon enough? -- their children will once again have a spine in their days, solid form that will keep them on-task, in focus. Out of the house.

School's starting later this year, though where did the summer go? But first, time to stock up.

As you examine the shelves for the best deal on pens and notebooks and folders -- don't forget index cards; you'll never be sorry -- realize it is the beginning of a chain. These things will never again look so pristine or be so full of hope.

Soon enough, they will become part of the Home Collection: crap you accumulate through time, with the best of intentions.

Where will those spotless supplies end up? Used, filled, some days forgotten, chronicling knowledge and progress, we can only hope. Then set in some box, jammed into a corner, long after assignments, teachers and the fast lane.

I delved into such boxes recently while becoming reacquainted with the basement storage area, bursting with the posterity of our lives. You know: stuff no one will take the time to throw away.

Countless words are written and said about such clutter and its stranglehold on how we function (It's in this pile -- somewhere!)

It's our own fault. We hold on to relics of the past. A special scarf, collection of pennies, a teaspoon-sized clump of rice. Notes left for no reason. Mementos of moments.
Some notes are keepers

In a recent cleaning frenzy -- lasted almost two hours! -- I came across a penciled note stuck in a laundry room cupboard: "2:42 a.m. Hi Mom -- I'm tired. Could you reach into the intimate kindness of your heart and soul and sort my laundry? I love you."

I don't know how old our son was at the time. I'm guessing middle school, about the time they began participatory laundry duties.

How do you throw that away? Ditto the instructions left by our elementary-aged daughter inside a kitchen cupboard, kindly suggesting palatable eats for her brown-bag lunches. How does that not make you smile?

Multiply that by five softhearted people and add one more element: The part of you that says you do not wish to deal with this stuff right now. Keep? Toss?

Hey, I'll just stick it in this box, mark it "posterity," and downstairs it goes.

So I came across notes from high school history classes. Textbooks, event programs, frayed papers that were once art projects.

Once they were steps in their learning and growing up. Beginning as empty pages with limitless possibilities, ready for some challenging, enlightening, wonderful hard work.